


"What Can I Do For You?"

by The_Cat_God_of_Paperclips



Category: Original Work
Genre: Narrator is variable, Phen is smol, Switching writing styles, Voice is nebulous, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cat_God_of_Paperclips/pseuds/The_Cat_God_of_Paperclips
Summary: “What can I do for you?” a voice rang out in the room, but no speaker showing up to claim it.“I… don’t know?” the small child answered, timid in their words.A humming noise, as if the Voice were contemplating the child’s answer. A sound, not unlike that of a rain stick following, traveling around as if it were alive, slithering almost, through the room.“Then, may I ask for your name?” the Voice sang again. It was vague in its gender, managing to be neither male or female, but at the same time; both at once.
Kudos: 1





	"What Can I Do For You?"

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a writing exercise in 7th grade, and continued it in 10th. Let me know what you think!

“What can I do for you?” a voice rang out in the room, but no speaker showing up to claim it.  
“I… don’t know?” the small child answered, timid in their words.  
A humming noise, as if the Voice were contemplating the child’s answer. A sound, not unlike that of a rain stick following, traveling around as if it were alive, slithering almost, through the room.  
“Then, may I ask for your name?” the Voice sang again. It was vague in its gender, managing to be neither male or female, but at the same time; both at once.  
“Phen,” the child hiccuped. Dried tear tracks mark their rounded face. They couldn’t have been more than six.  
“Phen.” It sounded foreign coming from the Voice, almost like a question was being asked.  
It repeated the name again, seemingly warming up to the way the syllables rolled and echoed around the room the two beings were in.  
“Well, Phen, do you know who you are?” the voice sounded more feminine. More playful. Enough of both that it would be easy to picture a smile on their unknown face. Whether the smile is mischievous or kind is not given by the voice’s tone, as the child cannot see a face or even a body in the open room.  
“What do you mean?” Slowly trusting tone. Words spoken from the child’s mouth, less fear and more confusion unlike how it was before.  
“What is your story? Even for one as small as yourself, you must have something of a past… especially for you to have made it here.” The Voice is more contemplative now, returning to the way it was previously; gender unknown. The source of the voice though has become more narrowed down, less difficult to pinpoint in the expansive room.   
“I was a… Var-EE-ant.”  
“A Variant?” the voice supplied helpfully. “Is that what you are trying to say?”

The child responded affirmatively you observe from behind the hidden panel. You remind yourself that the Voice promised to not hurt the child in any way when they suggested this little experiment. And while it did take you a while to approve of the Voice’s request, but you have to agree that they were right in their proposal. You look out to your left, where the whole exchange is being recorded on a large machine, words and actions bluntly and uncreatively stated as fact.  
You don’t know much about the Voice, in fact, you know a slight bit more than the child does. But what you know doesn’t help you discern as to the likelihood of it turning on you, but you do know that it is highly intelligent and manipulative. You don’t know who they are, and despite your greatest efforts, they still haven’t dropped a single hint as to who -or what- they are.

“N.S. 1957, B.O.T. model number 33685,” the Voice began.  
“L.X. 2017, B.O.T. model number 66812,” the Voice ended.  
“They are not yet ready to have those models, especially N.S. 1957. Their code is too old and too volatile for a, a caretaker!” I hiss out through grinding teeth.  
“Is that your only concern?” that Voice, ever manipulative, never giving anything away, slipped- a patronizing parent coming to the forefront of my mind at their tone.   
“No that is not my only concern,” I snap right back, “the Scientist isn’t going to be happy if I do this. You know that.”  
Any explanation that a person gives to the Voice, I remembered, should have an expected response of cryptic vagueness and all around manipulation. Unfortunately, I remembered this after the Voice had already left.  
“N.S. 1957 should be given the directive to protect the young Variant, while L.X. 2017… well,” a small, almost malicious laugh fluttered around through the flickering screens, blank and running monitors, weaving through the cords strewn and meticulously organized throughout the small room before words followed. “L.X. 2017 will be trying to stop the young Variant.”  
An expectant pause, I took in the possibilities of what the word stop could mean. I didn’t like it.  
“Of course, you don’t have to build and reprogram them. In fact I could do it myself if I so pleased. And” the Voice got closer, a non-entity in the way a speeding train is a non-entity, more intimate and whispered,” since you don’t seem to approve of this method, I’m giving you the power to put in whatever fail safes you want into the two B.O.Ts, but they must be those models and with these parameters.”  
A small piece of paper slid slowly, like the oncoming apocalypse, across my table. And like that, the Voice was gone, the sound of a rain stick following close behind. I put my head in my hands, wondering what to do. 

“N.S. 1957 and L.X. 2017 are complete, is that correct?” Despite being worded as a question, the inflection that you used made it clear that it was not but a statement.  
“I am sure that you can see that for yourself.” A coy smile could be heard within the steady baritone that the Voice had chosen for now, giving you the impression of a man who knew how to get under another’s skin.  
You wish that you knew what that phantom smile could mean.  
“ Why are they compete then?” The Voice was quiet, contemplating how to respond to your request; they must not have expected you to be that blunt.  
“L.X. 2017 is to complete their original mission, while N.S. 1957 is to care for the Variant as they’re too old to be able to assist in L.X.’s mission.” The baritone still remained, though it was becoming less baritone and more like the Voice’s normal scale as they continued. “One would think that that would’ve been obvious from the get go.”  
“You are suggesting that we introduce the Variant to N.S. 1957.”  
“What else could I possibly be saying?”  
You know that you are being taken advantage of, that your thirst for the answers to all of those unasked, unspoken questions is being used to your disadvantage.  
You know that this entity-the Voice- has their own agenda, and that the whole experiment is a part of it.  
You know you should say no to this meeting but…  
“Then I wonder what we are waiting for.”  
You don’t need to see the Voice to know they are pleased with this turn of events.

“Hello Phen. How have you been?” The Voice questioned the young child.  
“I’ve been good!” an over-enthusiastic reply chirped from Phen’s small body. “How about you?”  
An amused chuckle, fond- if one considered the Voice to be capable of such emotions. “I have been quite well, but I’m not the center of the focus right now.” The child’s head tilted to the side, expressing their confusion.  
“I was wondering if you would like a…” the Voice paused, choosing its words carefully “...friend or someone who can care for you.”  
“Like a Mommy or a Daddy?” Glee painted the child’s words.  
“Yes...” The Voice hesitated slightly at that, making it apparent to you that they don’t quite know what that meant. Phen was oblivious to the Voice’s falter.  
“When will I get to meet them? What’s their name? Are they tall or short? Do they look like me?”  
The questions flowed from the child’s mouth faster than any organic or mechanical being could answer, and from the silence resonating from the Voice… they were realizing it too. You smile, a wisp of mocking satisfaction at the Voice’s stunned silence curling through your body.  
“You may meet them now,” the Voice jumped in when Phen’s flood of questions died down slightly. The child cheered like any self respecting six-ish year old would.  
N.S 1957 entered the room, having sensed its que. Phen’s reaction was instantaneous, launching their little body at the B.O.T. in a way that would’ve scared everything.  
N.S. 1957’s reactions were fast, catching the child and swinging them around.  
Laughter came from the speakers. The Voice had been right and as much as it annoys you, the new development would definitely help you find out what the results of Phen pulsing- releasing whatever virus it carried into their surroundings- hopefully without harming everything. You know that the Voice is going to try to introduce the Variant to L.X. 2017, just like they did with N.S. 1957.  
You know that the results of that meeting are tilted strongly, what with the probability that L.X. 2017 will harm or traumatize the Variant being in the high 90’s range. When the Voice will attempt that meeting is still a mystery, much like the Voice itself.  
You hadn’t realized that that meeting would be happening now.   
The sound of yelling.  
The screeching of metal on metal.  
A slam of an airlock door.  
A child crying.

Phen hid in Leo’s arms, their sniffles and tears absorbed by Leo’s shirt. Leo had been the only one who wanted to save them, the Voice had left them and that other person had tried to kill them!  
“Phen are you alright?” a gentle question that matched the individual. Phen sniffled an affirmative. 

You are relieved that the Variant child is physically unharmed, but you are concerned about the effect that the psychological trauma could have on the child.  
“What were you thinking?” Frustration. Anger. Rage. Confusion. They all paint your words.  
“One should think it obvious to someone of your level of intellectual advancement. But alas,” a Shakespearian lit invaded the Voice’s mocking speech, “it seems to be not so. Oh, the yearning lust for knowledge is a great endeavor to pursue. And yet, all our greatest discoveries had a price.”  
“The biggest difference between them and us is that we don’t have to worry that those prices are going to harm us or others,” you argue back.  
“Oh. My dear, darling, little human. Thinking that you are above such repercussions… has that ever truly worked well for your kind? In your long, convoluted, twisted history, has that ever worked?”  
“You have no right-” the Voice cut you off, its echo ringing around you, heavy as a church bell.  
“I have every right.  
You are wrong.  
There is always a price.”  
Silence followed the Voice’s outburst. You called out again in frustration, but the Voice did not respond-almost as if the strange being had left. Your infuriated groan rips from your mouth, echoing harshly around the room, down the hall to eventually spread to places you cared not for.

I’ve come to realize that my programing may not be as it should be. That even though I am a B.O.T. and therefore am supposed to be incapable of ‘human’ emotion, I feel the the Programmer might have outdone themselves in their attempts to undermine the Voice. I can feel emotions as I imagine an organic creature would. I know it’s in my programming, but I want to protect Phen. I want to show them the wonders of a world that loved when I was made, but the one that has taken its place I don’t know or understand. L.X. 2017 was my sibling, my family and now… I don’t know what they are. Phen, the only one that is known; that I can trust.  
Phen is my family now, there is no-one else left.

A door slamming against wall-a metallic cry of mercy resonating through the empty walls. Footsteps closely trailing the bang.  
A shaky, shuddering inhalation. A poor attempt to relieve the pressure of the stress on one’s shoulders. A command, snarled from a hidden speaker.  
“NO!” a child yelling back, in anxious mutiny.  
More yelling. A voice demanding the child do as their told. A parental figure watching, unable to interfere.  
The child breaking down, too stressed, too scared, too tired to comply or fight back. The voice yelling right back; a grotesque and merciless force yelling “Pulse or be disposed!” over and over.  
The child is crying now, the parent breaking free; rushing toward their ward. The parent holding the child in their arms, whispering apologies and trying to shield from the growling of the speakers.  
“Stop! Please, this has gone too far!”

“Stop! Please, this has gone too far!” N.S. 1957 pleas. Their guarding the child, that much is obvious to L.X. 2017. The Scientist steps away from the microphone-barely concealed anger radiating off of them in toxic waves.  
“We could shut N.S. 1957 down and grab the child,” leaves L.X.’s vocal receptor, grabbing the Scientist’s attention. They went over it for a short time, both agreeing to the plan.  
The electrical transmitters would very easily be disrupted by a magnetic flare, resulting in a total shutdown of a B.O.T. but not of a Variant. All it would take would be a press of one little button.  
A soft click as the button was pressed.

A series of clicks, whirs and pops sounded from N.S. 1957’s body only accompanied by the subtle but persistent twitches and jolts from the B.O.T.’s joints. Phen looked up at their parent’s face in confusion, morphing slowly into horror as they took in what was happening. A door slid open to the room, the strange person from earlier and another, more haggard looking individual stepping into the vast open space. Cortisol and adrenaline began to flow faster through Phen. The haggard individual grabbed Phen, triggering more panicked screaming.  
It didn’t take long for Phen to break free of the person’s hold. It took even less time for Phen to run, where to Phen did not know.  
“Whoa there. Calm down.” A hand gripped Phen’s arm but not in a harmful way.  
“Are you okay?” the voice continued-but this time there was a face, a body attached.  
“Who are you?” timidly spoken from the small body.  
“I’m the Programmer,” a kind smile showed on a tired face.

The series of clicks, whirs and pops stopped. The twitching stopped as well. The glow in N.S. 1957’s eyes slowly grew in strength. Their chest grew and shrank from inhale-exhale of air. They got up.

Two events happen, one right after the other. The Programmer, explaining in the most simple of ways to the child before them what is happening and why. They explain what a ‘pulse’ is, what a Variant and a B.O.T. are. The explanation is followed with Phen’s question.  
“Then what is the Voice? And why did the Scientist want me to pulse?”  
“None of us know what the Voice is. And my guess for why they wanted you to pulse… to find out what kind you are or possibly to find out how to control you.”  
“What does it feel like to pulse?”  
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”  
“I feel funny.”  
The computers sparked and sputtered, the monitors displaying the blue screen of death that all fear. The lights flicker but the room remains illuminated by the colors. Colours, vibrant and shimmering. They spread everywhere, swirling around the room, lighting up the Programmer and Phen’s eyes. Greens, blues, reds and yellows; every natural colour plus a few that are not, reflecting off of Phen auburn hair, casting more on the walls. The origin of the flare sat on the floor, right in the middle of the room; Phen looking around in amazement.

I followed the flare off of a Variant pulse, leading me to the Programmer’s laboratory. Strange lights glow from the bottom of the door. I was not expecting that when I’d opened the door I’d see Phen’s awe filled eyes.  
“Leo!” Phen yelled as she launched at me, a flurry of happiness and excitement.  
“Phen, oh thank god,” I said in utter relief, hugging her close. A small, amused chuckle arose from the Programmer as they witnessed the two of them hugging.  
“We need to get out of here,” I whispered to the Programmer. A nod of a head was the response to my question.  
“Do you know a way out?” I asked.  
Another nod and a kind smile,“Follow me.”  
We followed the Programmer- “Please. My name is Morgan.”-to an old, run down sewer tunnel. I had my doubts. I was not the only one.  
“I don’t recommend that tunnel. Your darling boss knows about that one.”  
The hairs on the back of my neck raised, Phen’s shoulders tensed and Morgan froze. That voice was one that all three of us were very familiar with; the Voice was back.

Long, slender legs; delicate, fine looking wrists; broad shoulders tapering off to a narrow waist. Skin tinted a soft blue. The Voice had chosen a very specific look, imitating what a person would think a Faery would look like. But the sensors in your head detected that the Voice was anything but a Faery, alerting you more towards the way of a Variant.

“There is a far easier way out. One that the Boss won’t expect,” the Voice said. “It’s called the front door.”  
Phen began to squirm in my arms, but before I was able to ask what was wrong- she pulsed. The force released from the wave knocked everyone back, the swirl of colors violent and raging. My gears and coding began to fail; everything went dark as I was shut down once more.

Your fingers are sore from typing up your magnum opus. You feel numb; you’d been typing for the past- looking at the clock- six hours. You can feel the cold air of the basement numbing your wrists, your toes, your ankles. Your stomach rumbles, as if the evil gnome that lives there has decided that you must feed it.  
You stand up too fast; colors and blobs swirl in your vision, your balance shaky at best. While you do want to finish the story, you need a break. The stairs creak slightly as you climb them, the warmth from upstairs hitting you halfway up.

After some time, the laptop screen goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt that I gave myself for this was "Can I write without describing what the characters look like?"
> 
> Got any others that might be fun?


End file.
